


Merry and Bright

by IneffablePenguin



Series: Love, and Other Ineffable Things [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: AntiChristmas Zine Fic, Christmas Cookies, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Vignette, Domestic Fluff, First Christmas Together, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Just a bit of holiday cheer, M/M, Post-Canon, Romantic Fluff, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:21:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28189125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffablePenguin/pseuds/IneffablePenguin
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley’s first ever Christmas together as a couple, post-Armageddon. A warm and cosy little vignette full of winter treats and promises.Featuring a slightly feral Aziraphale, ugly jumpers, and some dubiously-shaped Christmas biscuits.[This was my fic contribution to the SFW AntiChristmas Zine, which I can now share with you! It’s part of my ‘Love and Other Ineffable Things’ series as well, though it stands alone just fine.]Happy Christmas to all! 🎄🎁
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Love, and Other Ineffable Things [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1405606
Comments: 27
Kudos: 96
Collections: AntiChrist-mas Zine Collection





	Merry and Bright

* * *

  
It was a rare snowy Christmas Eve in London.

Crowley sat perched on the sofa armrest and gazed out the frosty window of the bookshop, watching snowfall blanket everything in clean white like a fresh coat of paint.

It was coming down thick and fast, but people still bustled by undeterred on the Soho street, all bundled up against the cold, shivering but cheerful, smiling and laughing arm in arm with friends and family. It was still relatively early in the evening, and the flood of last-minute shoppers was finally ebbing.

He had never celebrated Christmas before. It wasn’t exactly a cheerful time, for the Fallen, and he still didn’t really know what to make of it. His _modus operandi_ for the last millennium had been to turn out the lights, crawl into his solitary bed on December first, and set his alarm clock (or whatever passed for alarm clocks in those days) for the New Year. Burying himself away from the world, sleeping the cold winter days away while the humans celebrated their little season of love and wonder and light. Hope and goodwill and mercy, and companionship, and all things _happy_.

But not for him. Those things were not for him to touch. Like sweets behind glass, they were locked away from demon hands and forever out of reach. Better to burrow into the dark and forget than have it flung in his face at every turn.

Only, this year… this year everything was different. 

Crowley sat there by the window and watched all the smiling humans walk by outside in the cold, and experienced the oddest sensation of the world being flipped on its head. The bookshop was warm and cheerfully lit around him, the familiar wood-and-paper smell mingling with the mouth-watering scents of vanilla and cinnamon. Christmas music drifted through the air from the brass gramophone on the desk. Mulled wine sat keeping hot in a copper pot on the newly-added stovetop, ready for serving, and soon…soon Aziraphale would be home.

Home.

His first Christmas with Aziraphale. Their first Christmas together living in the bookshop. Their first holiday season since that magical evening at the end of the summer, the evening after the Ritz when Crowley had finally dredged up the courage to tell him how he felt. Er, more like show him. One kiss, and his entire world had changed forever.

He’d traded his sterile flat for the cosy, cluttered bookshop, for the tiny upstairs bedroom that had once been a storage space, and now slept each night wrapped in Aziraphale’s soft, warm arms. Waking was no longer a trial. 

Most days it all still felt like some fantasy that his mind had dreamed up to comfort him while sleeping away the winter, but he was slowly beginning to accept that this was real.

For the first time in his life, some of that warmth _was_ for him to touch.

For the first time in his life, he was going to experience the human Christmas season in all its glory.

Whether he wanted to or not.

He glanced down at himself and grimaced. Thank Satan there was no one else around to see what he was wearing. The bright red jumper featured a knitted white pattern of vintage-style reindeer and snowflakes, with the words “Merry and Bright” emblazoned across the chest in twirly green letters. It was warm, and soft, and festive, and without a doubt the most appalling damn thing he had ever put on his body.

He should have know to be wary from the maniacal gleam in Aziraphale’s eyes when he said he had a gift for him. The angel had presented it to him with such enthusiasm, pulling the (badly) gold-wrapped box out from under the tree with a flourish, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. After six thousand years he had known his angel long enough to recognise that that was a very dangerous look indeed.

 _Forget it,_ he had said vehemently. _Absolutely not._

But then Aziraphale had taken his hand, and looked at him with that pleading expression that always melted his better judgment into a puddle. Most of the stupid things he did were prefaced by that look. Next thing he knew, through some form of angelic hypnosis, he had somehow found himself wearing the ridiculous jumper.

He used to be quicker on his feet than this, but four months of being deliriously happy had clearly dulled his reflexes.

And besides, Aziraphale had looked so _very_ excited. What exactly was he supposed to do?

He was so very excited about everything about Christmas, actually, to a nearly alarming degree. If Aziraphale had been enthusiastic about trying human things _before_ Armageddon...well. In breaking from Management’s oversight, the angel had gone just a little bit wild with freedom.

To his surprise, he had learned that there was a very big difference between Aziraphale trying to hide his enthusiasm, and him...not trying.

The entire bookshop was nearly unrecognisable. Garlands of holly and bright crimson berries adorned the windows and pillars and elegant wrought-iron bannisters, winding all the way up the spiral staircase and along the top landing. Chains of red and gold paper zig-zagged above his head; twinkling lights hung like tiny stars everywhere he looked. Most alarming of all, the book displays in the center of the main shop had all been moved aside to make way for the largest Christmas tree he had ever seen. The bloody thing stood at least twenty feet tall.

He didn’t have the faintest idea how or when Aziraphale had got it into the building. He’d simply come home one day to find it already there, towering over them like some ominous, pine-scented overlord. Aziraphale had only smiled and looked very smug.

Decorations had only been the start. The angel seemed to have pulled out every book ever written on human Christmas traditions...and then resolved to do _all_ of them together, the human way no less. Gingerbread houses and paper snowflakes and crackers and mistletoe – nothing was too kitschy or mundane, apparently, because, “How can you know which things you like until we try them?” Two days ago Aziraphale had dramatically bemoaned the lack of baking utility in the shop, so with a resigned sigh Crowley had shoved aside the sofa, cleared away all the valuable old books, miracled up a freestanding oven, and converted the little back area into a makeshift kitchen. The oven wasn’t plugged in to anything, but that hadn’t stopped it from working perfectly well anyway.

So here he was now, minding the oven while Aziraphale went to the shop for more sugar. They’d spent the entire snowy day mixing and baking and poring over stacks of cookbooks, and the newly-added folding tables were already loaded with the fruits of their labours.

There was Christmas pudding, mince pies, and a chocolate Yule log studded with toffee. Berry trifle with custard and cream, cinnamon tarts glazed with honey, iced gingerbread biscuits…more treats than the two of them could ever eat, even with Aziraphale’s determined efforts. And crowning the entire affair: a great tall spice cake, slathered thickly with rich white frosting and spangled with sugar stars and little marshmallow snow-men. If everything was somewhat lopsided, or the frosting rather clumsily applied, it only added to its charm. The angelic Grace, apparently, did not bestow artistic skill.

Crowley sniffed. There was a new, acrid smell in the air.

“Gah!” He leapt off the sofa, cursing, and scrambled over to the oven, where dark grey smoke had just begun to curl out and around the door. He didn’t bother with the oven mitts, but simply reached in through the billow of smoke and whipped out the tray of thoroughly burned cut-out biscuits. He slammed them down on the table they had set out for just this purpose and gazed down at them in dismay. He was no expert, but he was pretty sure sugar biscuits weren’t supposed to be that colour. _Shit_.

A flick of his fingers dispelled the smoke. He glared at the tray of biscuits next, and they faded slowly from charcoal to a nice golden. Better.

At that precise moment there came the rattle and click of the front door, and Crowley started guiltily. He sprinted back over to the sofa, draped himself casually across it, put his feet up and crossed his arms- just as Aziraphale bustled around the corner.

He had a thick blue scarf wrapped around his neck and mouth to ward off the cold, and brown woolen mittens on his hands. The tip of his upturned nose was bright pink, as were his cheeks, and his head and shoulders were dusted all over with snow like powdered sugar. He looked like one of the decorations on his cake, and Crowley had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.

Instead he quickly got up from the sofa, and walked over to help him remove his snowy overcoat.

“Oh. Thank you, love.” Aziraphale beamed up at him, and slid his arms around his waist. He hugged him tightly, and Crowley dropped the coat and hugged him back, face buried in the blond hair. For a long moment they just stood there holding each other.

“Are you cold?” Crowley murmured to him. He brushed some snowmelt off his head, and held him a bit closer. Demons ran hot as a matter of course, due to the spark of Hellfire that burned at their core, and at times like this it came in handy.

“Mm. Not anymore.” Aziraphale pressed cool lips to his cheek and lay his head on his shoulder with a contented sigh. For all that Crowley was the one with the high body temperature, he felt himself grow a few degrees warmer.

“Shall we have some wine?” the angel asked quietly after another long minute.

“Yeah.” He reluctantly let go and went to retrieve the coat from the floor, but Aziraphale gripped him by the front of his jumper and kissed him gently on the mouth. While Crowley just stood there with head spinning the angel bent and picked up his coat.

“I’ll put this away, what say you pour that wine?”

“Yuh huh,” Crowley replied eloquently, and tottered off to obey.

In addition to a white shirt and red bow tie, Aziraphale wore his own Christmas-themed jumper, in green instead of red. His version said “Deck the Halls”, and he had apparently not yet noticed that Crowley had swapped the cursive “e” with an “i” earlier that day. Crowley got a private snicker out of it every time he looked at him.

He set out two mugs (Aziraphale insisted mugs were more festive than glasses) and ladled them each a generous serving of the dark mulled wine.

The angel accepted his own mug, and walked over and looked down at the cooling tray of biscuits. “Oh, Good Lord.”

“Something wrong?” Crowley asked.

“No, no…” Aziraphale opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of whatever he was about to say. “They look lovely, my dear.”

Frowning, Crowley came over next to him and peered down at the tray.

The biscuits were supposed to be shaped like Christmas stockings; they _had_ been shaped like stockings when he put them in the oven. But at some point in the process something crucial had clearly gone awry- the dough had swelled and warped, elongating until they most closely resembled... something else. He hadn’t noticed in his panic over the smoke. He used a spatula to pick one up and examine it. “Huh. I think they look great.” He grinned and offered it to him. “D’you want one?”

“Good Lord,” Aziraphale said again. He had turned just a little bit pink. He cleared his throat and used a cloth to pick up and set the tray aside. “We can decorate these later.”

“That’ll be fun.” Crowley sipped at his wine and followed him over to sit down on the relocated sofa.

“So. What would you like to do next?” Aziraphale asked with a smile.

“Whatever you want. Which activities are usually your favourites?”

“Oh.” Aziraphale looked down at his lap, fiddling with his mug. “I’m not sure. As it so happens…I’ve actually never done any of this before.”

Crowley stared at him in surprise. “You’re kidding. What, none of it?”

The angel shook his head. “I suppose it just never seemed like it would be much fun to do…alone.”

 _Oh_. Crowley swallowed. It had somehow not occurred to him that Aziraphale would have been left alone for the holidays too, for all those years. He had a sudden vision of him sitting quietly in his empty bookshop, all by himself, peering out the window at the festivities outside. Just as he had done earlier, but with no one on their way home to him. The thought was unbearable.

He set down his wine, and took his hand. “Well, you aren’t alone anymore.”

Aziraphale beamed at him, and the Christmas lights dimmed in comparison. “I know. It’s quite lovely.” He put soft fingers under his chin and kissed him, and Crowley pulled him into his arms and kissed him back. No mistletoe required.

_You’ll never be alone again._

He made the promise silently, deep in his heart. He held him close, and thought of the silver ring he had tucked away upstairs in one of his shoes, where Aziraphale would never look. The ring he had been holding on to for nearly four months now.

 _Later_ , he resolved. Let them focus entirely on the silly holiday fun, this time round. He had waited six thousand years, and could wait just a bit longer. In the meantime, he had six thousand years worth of holding him to catch up on.

The future was, indeed, bright.

* * *


End file.
